First Time Flyer....

Sitting in the airport is always enjoyable to me. I love people watching and trying to guess who is going on vacation, returning home after time away, or on just another work trip. I find myself flying often, to visit friends and family in Canada and in the USA. Frequenting busy airports like San Francisco, Denver and of course Vancouver. Peoples stories almost seem predictable, a once a year traveler, monthly traveler, a family away on vacation, of a college student returning home. Recently I was flying home from Entebbe to Addis Ababa after a short visit with my sister, I sat at the gate and watched the other travelers arrive.

·      Two men who looked like they had been lost in Africa as travelers since the early 90’s with their life possessions stuffed into carry on packs. Tanned marked up legs covered in bites exposed as they wore hiking boots with cargo shorts.

·      A family returning home to Asia sat gathered, admiring their African souvenirs.

·      Working professionals away from their home countries carrying out business.

·      Then a flood of 30 men, all wearing matching shirts came in and sat down, scattered into what ever empty seats were left, talking to one another, comparing seat numbers and plane tickets.

Our flight was delayed, and I was sad to have to leave Uganda after my lovely weekend with Kaylin. We all boarded the plane and I got comfortable in my window seat (we all love a good window seat!). Watching the passenger’s board and find there seat a young man sat next to me. Holding his passport and connecting plane ticket he adjusted his blazer and looked around taking it all in. Now for us who have traveled a bit in our time, we are accustomed to finding our seats, glancing at the nearest exit and securing our seatbelt. But this man just sat there looking around. I leaned over and asked if this was his first time flying. And it was! The 30 men who all wore matching shirts were on their way to Dubai to work for two years in the labour market. Abraham was his name, and he was thrilled to be heading to Dubai. Everything to do with air travel was a mystery to him. I gave him the quick run down: how to fasten and undo his seatbelt, where the toilets where and where to find the bag to vomit into if needed. As the plane took off he clutched the armrests and looked with excitement and a bit of terror as the ground fell away. Pointing to lake Victoria, a place he knew so well from the water, saying it looked so different from way up here. Recognizing my highly sought after window seat would be better used by Abraham, we switched places.

We talked for the flight; he asked how the plane was able to fly through the clouds, what happens when it rains and how the pilot can see where to fly at night when it is dark? And me trying to explain the best I can. Explaining the difference in Gas, liquid and solids, how we are able to pass our hand through smoke from a fire, or steam from a boiling pot. It was incredible to be there, sitting beside him, watching him experience flying for the first time. Something I take for granted and has become routine in my life was brought back to the incredible science and feat that it is flying.

My first flight was when I was a few months old, a baby stretched across the lap of my mom as we flew to visit family. At the age of 8 I took a plane by myself to visit family with the help of a flight attendant leading me to the gate. But With Abraham I got to see what it is like to experience flight for the first time. What courage to take a job far away, leave the routine of the known to step onto a cold metal machine that claims to almost never fall from the sky.

As we approached Addis Ababa I asked if I could take a picture of us, the locals are always taking pictures of me, why not turn the tables this time! (yes, you can look up and spot yourself in someone’s camera phone as they attempt to capture a picture of you. You get use to it.) Abraham looked through my passport asking about the stamps and visas that filled the pages, I looked through his passport at the crisp pages ready to be used. All travelers love looking through another traveler’s passport, it tells a story! 

Knowing we were going to start our decent I warned Abraham that there would be turbulence. Explaining the bumps are normal, encouraging him not to worry. He still clutched the armrests with a look of fear and then laughter came across his face. I smiled, watching him understand and experience the end of his first flight. At the end of the flight he thanked me for the company, explanations and help with his first flight. We exchanged numbers and parted ways as we exited. He was off to Dubai; I was back home in Addis.

Taking a step back and experiencing something so normal through someone else’s eyes is a gift, a time to slow down and appreciate what has become routine. I loved my flight back from Entebbe and it’s all thanks to Abraham and his first flight.

No pictures, Just Words

Pressure of the world sitting on my shoulders, that’s how I felt while our last mission Vascular Surgeon was here in Addis. Having an expectation on running our surgical days to the highest possible level of success. Patients came to the hospital hoping to see the surgeon and get a highly sought after surgical slot. These were teenagers to grandfathers, and everyone else in between. Having a health condition not looked after, or early stages of kidney disease that was missed, have lead to these patients requiring dialysis. In a country lacking on expertise the dependency on foreign experts to perform the delicate surgery of creating an AV fistula (a way to get dialysis to clean the patients blood of the built up toxins) is their only option. No other doctors perform this surgery in Ethiopia. We were the only option. This hung on my shoulders for the course of the three days of surgery. For three days I welcomed each patient as they came in, organized everyone’s charts, ensured the Ethiopian nurses were completing the new paper work we had created. Working with the Surgeon to determine the cut of for surgeries that we were capable of completing. Our team worked hard and late. One of the nights the OR was not done until nearly midnight! We are a small hospital, one team of cleaners, one team of OR nurses, and a couple ward nurse for each shift.

 By the middle of day two the needs of a younger 30 year old patient resulted in a tough conversation between the Surgeon and myself, to cancel the surgery of an 80 year old to be able to fit the 30 year old in. Who will benefit more? Why was I part of this choice, it is heavy. Not hard but a heavy task to complete. Praying for each patient, as I had to tell them we were full and could see no others. Taking names down, promising to contact them if we have another vascular surgeon come. Praying they will stay healthy and alive, give us time to help them, time they do not have.

By the last morning I was feeling heart broken over the need and our human limits that fell drastically short. After sending out a massive prayer request on facebook a friend sent me a message that sunk in. A reminder of how Jesus went to the Pool of Bethsaida and healed one man, not everyone but one. God has a plan and uses us to be his hands and feet here on earth in whatever work we do. We are working together as a team in the hospital, helping those who come to us. Why do I have the expectation on myself that we must do the work of hundreds, or the work of God. I am neither, I am a Canadian Nurse, who loves God, and wants to serve and love people. I love being a nurse for the human connection; I love being able to care for those from all walks of life. At home at times it’s washing the old ladies dentures, or brushing her hair that I love about my job. Bringing new socks to someone who is sitting bare foot in wet sneakers. I love the serving part of nursing. I love that I get paid to care for people everyday. I have changed my location of work but still the same love of nursing in my Job here.

I need to celebrate the 20 patients we reached and were able to give AV fistulas to. I can pray and offer understanding and advocate for another surgeon for all those who left our hospital with unanswered cry for help. Seeing the young man understand he could not be seen tear up and walk away with slumped shoulders was hard. It was hard for me and the nurses who had to translate the hard truth. But it is God who strengthens us, and he who gets to hear about the frustrations and disappointment at the end of the day. I don’t need to hold onto that.  

This job is difficult, rewarding, challenging, overwhelming, and so much bigger then I. But I am here now, moving forward and discovering new skills, and still loving being a nurse and this new world I have found myself in. I will remember the patients who left the hospital smiling and hugging us with thankfulness and joy after their surgeries, Glory to God for the chance to be a part of their story, if only for a day or so.